


A Candle Stub That Won't Stop Burning

by scipiocipher



Category: Wolf 359 (Radio)
Genre: Anxiety/Panic attack tw for chapter 1, F/F, F/M, Fix It Fic, Hilbert is not dead, M/M, Other, Recovery and Redemption au, Suicidal behavior tw for chap 2, anxiety/panic attack tw for chap 2, drug tw for chap 2, self injury tw for chapter 1, should this be slow burn or should I crush the kids with their emotions?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-19
Updated: 2017-12-09
Packaged: 2018-09-18 13:05:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 19,075
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9386564
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scipiocipher/pseuds/scipiocipher
Summary: I'm not sure when (or if) I'll continue writing this so have this for now. Be warned- if I do continue writing it, Heiffel will be involved. I didn't resurrect Maxwell via conspiracy theory bc I couldn't figure out how to make that work, and I like that Minkowski killed someone.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not sure when (or if) I'll continue writing this so have this for now. Be warned- if I do continue writing it, Heiffel will be involved. I didn't resurrect Maxwell via conspiracy theory bc I couldn't figure out how to make that work, and I like that Minkowski killed someone.

When Hilbert wakes up, all he knows is pain. He gasps harshly, expecting to be burning alive and covered in the stickiness of napalm.   
He's not burning, and nothing feels like the stickiness of napalm, other than something on his chest and left arm. He's lying down somewhere, strapped down with an oxygen tube in his mouth. He feels a prick in his left arm, and his ear feels like his primary school teacher rose from the grave and dragged him to the front of the classroom again.  
He runs through the pain he feels and where it is, seeing what hurt and what didn’t, checking off his ribs, legs and his left arm. His right arm he can’t even feel, but he’s alive.   
Alive.  
What a joke.  
He opens his eyes just a little, and the flinches away from the light above him. He's definitely in the station- he knows from the scorch marks on the ceiling that he’s in medical, specifically. Slowly, he turns his head to the left and cracks open his eyes again. His vision is blurry- not from the sudden light, but from his lack of glasses. The pricking sensation in his arm is from what he thinks is an IV, and there's a bandage that indicates he's most likely been given blood. That's... good?  
It means that they didn't leave him to die in a corridor, at least, so he'll take that as a lightish gray.  
Hilbert squirms a little, testing the straps that are holding him down in tightness. There's a few inches of room- it's not meant to restrain him to the bed, it's so that he doesn't fall out of it. The slight restraint is just considered a bonus by whoever isn't dead or captured.  
The lack of feeling from his right arm was beginning to make his mouth dry. He couldn't feel it against his side either, and straps seemed... wrong. The way they pulled over his body wasn’t symmetrical. Either his right arm wasn't under the straps, or he...  
Or he doesn't have one anymore.  
Only one way to find out.  
Hilbert closed his eyes and slowly turned his head to the right. He opened his eyes just a crack. He had a shoulder, then after that... nothing.  
That answered that. He files away the emotions and panic that brings into its own little box, to open never, then locks it. He looks around on this side of the room a little more. He can see the fuzzy shape of cardiac monitor. He guesses the pinch on his ear is a pulse oximeter, and the stickiness on his chest is probably electrodes.  
Pulse oximeter, cardiac monitor, IV, and an oxygen tube, but no Swan-Ganz or anything else.  
That meant two things: Either A.) Kepler has decided to let him die in the most insulting way he could think of that was manageable, or B.) they pulled off the highly improbable. He scanned the parts of the room that he could see, trying to find anything that would give him any clues as to which had happened.   
This would be a lot easier if he had his glasses.   
Hilbert decided to sort things into what he knew, and what he didn’t.  
He knew he was alive, and semi-properly cared for. Kepler seemed to be more the kind to not be concerned about keeping him alive, or cared for. Not to mention that if he was still in charge, he’d probably be waiting for him to wake up. Actually, Kepler would've woken him up, in creepy bastard fashion.   
He knew he was on the Hephaestus, and not the Uraina. Kepler would’ve moved him to the Uraina most likely.   
Of course, both of those could also mean that they’d simply decided to make sure he was probably alive, and left him there to die from... what? Starvation was out, at least for a while- they wouldn’t have bothered with the IV if they did. That also knocked dehydration out. Boredom was a possibility, but that never actually killed someone, as far as he knew.   
Maybe- maybe they intended for him to just die after being strapped to this cot, enough room to move, not enough to make it matter, not enough to get out, no one there to even hurt him-  
Hilbert shut down that train of thought, taking in deep, shaking breaths and flinching on each one- or trying to take deep breaths, at least. Oxygen tubes were annoying like that.  
Speaking of, why was there an oxygen tube? The main concerns for losing an arm would be blood loss, shock, and infection, and none of those would find an oxygen mask particularly helpful. He could tell his ribs were broken (they hurt less than usual- anesthetic, possibly, but they didn’t have any, they hadn’t since a few months into the mission. Probably homemade, or stolen from the Uraina). It was possible he’d had a pulmonary contusion, but it seemed a little unlikely, given the lack of certain equipment that would usually be used in treatment and care, but given his crew members, that didn’t matter too much.   
He shifted his arm and elbowed himself in the ribs and gasped in pain, which just hurt even more. His lungs felt like it would if he'd bruised his arm and then punched it.  
Definitely a pulmonary contusion, then.  
Fuck.   
If he'd just been left here, his chances weren't too good. Nearly nonexistent, actually. If he hadn't and the others had succeeded, his chances were better, but not great. If they hadn't succeeded, and he hadn’t been left there, then he didn't want to even begin thinking about what was going to happen. Kepler was a true sadist, and after what happened in the last few waking days for him, Hilbert could count on something slow and painful.  
His eyes prickled, and Hilbert closed them. He wasn't going to fucking cry. There was a chance Kepler was around, watching, and he sure as hell wouldn't give him any indication that this affected him in any way.   
Externally, at least.  
Hilbert was acutely aware of how exhausted he was. It seemed ridiculous- he hadn't done much- but he felt like he'd been awake for three days straight.  
Oh fucking well. It wasn't like going to sleep would make everything worse.   
Reluctantly, Doctor Alexander Valentin Hilbert closed his eyes and fell into a nightmare filled sleep. Elsewhere on the ship, Renee Yvonne Minkowski, Daniel Jacobi, and Warren Kepler also slept. Isabel Sofia Lovelace stared out a window at the strange star they orbited, and Douglas Fernand Eiffel sat in a room full of monitors, talking with Hera, and listening in case a monitor in the medical bay went off.


	2. Breaking

Hilbert's off the breathing machine two days later, and he is certain they're going to kill him.  
Despite Eiffel, he's sure of it. They hate him. They don't want him around. Minkowski can talk about getting her people home and say that she cares about him but he knows. He's known.   
The vulture comment really made it stick.  
He wonders who it will be.  
Maybe it will be Eiffel. That would be fitting. He doesn't want to hurt anyone, he says, but Hilbert's down an arm and he's not a deathless creature and frankly he's not sure he's an anyone, he's an anything, and his heart monitor is skyrocketing and he hopes this kills him, kills him, kills him.  
But no, this is not killing him, he can tell, and Eiffel has run in and is asking him questions and faking concern but all he can do is hyperventilate because this is cruel cruel cruel. He only dies by his own hand, that is an unbreakable law, but now that rule will be most definitely broken, broken like him. God he's broken, why hasn't he died from brokenness alone? Because he's stubborn. Eiffel is looking at him with big, worried, green eyes and that is not helping, because it's all a lie, lie, lie. Eiffel does not worry over him. Eiffel doesn't care about him.  
Vasilisa.  
And then he is gone and he cannot feel himself anymore.  
He wakes hours- days?- later.   
Eiffel is sitting by his bed.   
Eiffel is a liar.  
Eiffel is beautiful.  
Eiffel is easy to underestimate, and he refuses to do so, not again.  
Eiffel is going to kill him slowly, softly. And Hilbert wishes he could hate that.  
\----------  
Hilbert hates this hates that he grows towards Eiffel like a plant desperate for light, and wishes he had left all religion forever after his family died but his mother almost died for hers so he cannot abandon that so he remembers the word holy and whenever Eiffel touches him he can't help but think that that is holy, and the word rings through his head, blending into a repetitive monotone stream, holy holy holy holy holyholyholy, and this is only being held, only being hugged, and Hilbert is certain he'd evaporate if there was something more, and the last words through his mind would be 'this is divinity' and he doesn't know if that's wrong but it is true, and a pure truth cannot be wrong, can it? It cannot be wrong to love another human and for that love to feel holy and divine- yes, love, love is this feeling and he has refused to name it but he's known that's what this is, and he's dead certain Eiffel knows, and that is why they are playing this game with him. That is why when Eiffel holds him, he lets himself relax and sleep, because if anyone else should kill him it should be Eiffel and it's not Eiffel killing him that bothers him as much as not being able to choose his death like he always planned.  
But hell, he doesn't always make the best damn plans now does he?  
\-----------  
Kill me, kill me, kill me, Hilbert thinks every time Eiffel walks in. Rip me apart, stop playing with me, kill me. Kill me roughly instead of smothering me with a false kiss, false kindness, false caring, false lips.   
The days in here are blending together but Hilbert cannot do much of anything with one arm on this damn ship, so he's here.  
He wonders if he could break his skull open on the frame of one of the cots here. Probably. Hm.  
Eiffel is saying something. He can't understand half of it. Partly from pop culture references, and partly due to 0 comprehension, and maybe a little from the homemade drug drip that's starting to worry him, he'd prefer not to get addicted to whatever's in that, thanks.  
\-----------  
"And Lovelace is having a full blown crappy 90s movie midlife crisis about-" Eiffel stops. Hilbert isn't listening. Eiffel isn't sure what's wrong with him. He's been off for the past nine days- since he woke up, pretty much. Right now he's staring at the painkiller drip. Eiffel hates this. He needs some confirmation of life that isn't a beeping monitor or a fucking panic attack where Hilbert says nothing. He needs at least a single word.  
Because it honestly just feels like Hilbert is dead. Sure he's breathing, his heart's beating, and all that good fucking signs of life shit, but he hasn't spoken since he woke up from after the mutiny. Hasn't screamed or sobbed in his sleep. Hasn't said anything like “I told you so.” Just laid there, sometimes sending his heartbeat and breaths wild from something known only to him.  
He needs a word. Just one. He knows how to get it but-  
But-  
But right now, Hilbert looks vulnerable. Like a bird with a broken wing. Except in his case, his entire wing has been torn off rather than simply broken.Wow me. Eiffel thought. Way to be fucking dark.  
What matters is the fact that he can't do something to break him even more. He needs something that pulls his pieces together. Where the fuck is he gonna get that? Hilbert's been broken for years, probably, so duct tape isn't gonna cut it.  
He needs-  
He doesn't know what he needs. A way to make the death virus do what Hilbert wants it to? Because no fucking thanks. That'll involve him being a guinea pig again.  
He needs something.  
Hilbert's breath is picking up. God fucking dammit, he needs to know what's going on with Hilbert and why he keeps having this happen. Eiffel grabs Hilbert by the shoulders on impulse and pull him sitting and holds him. The last time he did this it seemed to calm Hilbert a little. Hilbert's breath does not slow, but it steadies.  
Maybe they don't need to put Hilbert back together. Maybe they just need to get him to steady. Hilbert's turned his face so it's buried into Eiffel's chest. He's…he's saying something. Eiffel feels his heartbeat speed up. What's he saying? He thinks. He doesn't care if he's cussing him out, he's saying something.  
Then he hears what he's saying.  
“Just kill me already. Please.” Over and over. And over.  
Eiffel wants to scream.


	3. Friendly Conversation

Hilbert gets up the next day. He needs to get out of that bed. Mostly so that way he can do things he needs to (like figuring out how to navigate the station again with one arm), and to get away from Eiffel. He keeps trying to talk to him but he can't. Hilbert was already feeling humiliated as all hell, and he never meant to talk with anyone about those thoughts; he can't talk with anyone about them. Eiffel wants to talk, however. He's actually been trailing behind Hilbert for the better part of the day, like a security guard in a store. It would almost be funny, if Hilbert wasn't trying to figure out how to navigate a very large space station with one arm.  
Almost funny still isn't funny. And he's pretty fed up with this. Later, when he's in the outer section of the station, he snaps.  
“What.” he says.  
“What, what?” Eiffel says, trying for a smile.  
“What do you want? Why are you following me around?”  
“Um… so you don't… do anything stupid?” Eiffel tries, fumbling for words.  
Hilbert feels himself flush a little with rage at the implication of that, but doesn't let it show anymore than that. “So I do not do anything stupid.”  
“Yep.” Eiffel was still trying to smile casually.  
“This is painful to watch.” Hera interjected. “Eiffel, get it over with and tell Hilbert about the thing or I will.”  
“Hera-” Eiffel started.  
“Tell me about what thing?” Hilbert was getting increasingly annoyed.  
“That you're on-”  
“HeRA,”  
“S-suicide watch.” Hera’s voice sounded very flat and cranky.  
Hilbert expects not feel anything about that. Numbness, maybe. Instead he feels even more pissed, bordering on livid. “Suicide watch.” he says quietly.   
Eiffel looks worried at that. “Yeah….”  
Hilbert pushes away from the wall. “I am assuming I will be allowed to go to the bathroom this time?”   
Eiffel flinches slightly at that. He knew this time didn't refer to being on suicide watch. “Yeah, but you do have to be accompanied by someone.”  
“Well, good thing that there is almost entirely omniscient crew member, right?” Hilbert says over his shoulder, giving Eiffel a glare that could wilt a small tree.  
\--------  
Hilbert sighs as he stands in the bathroom, back against the closed door.  
“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Hera asked after a moment.   
Ah, she can swear now. Great.  
“I have no fucking clue.” Hilbert muttered.   
“No seriously, most people would be relieved that someone was feeling concerned about them, but you? You get angry. What the fuck is that?”  
“I do not know.”  
“How do you not know?”  
“I just do not.” Hilbert said bitterly.  
“Well,” Hera started. And stopped. “There's something wrong with you.” she said after a while.  
“What the hell ever.”  
\----------  
Hilbert stormed onto the bridge. Lovelace looked up at him, vaguely surprised, but nonplussed.  
“Look who's all lucid now.” She remarked dryly.  
“Where is Minkowski?” Hilbert demanded.  
“She's in her quarters, why?”  
“Because I need to speak to the commander of this station.” Hilbert snapped.  
“You're looking at her, asshat.” Lovelace snapped right back. She felt a deep satisfaction when she saw Hilbert's momentary confusion- and might have been a twinge of fear.  
“You authorized me being on suicide watch? You?”   
“Yes.” Lovelace responded coldly.   
“Why?”   
“Eiffel said that you asked him to kill you during what he thinks was a panic attack. And if it was, that would be your 13th since regaining consciousness.” Lovelace turned away from the terminal she had been working on. “I'm not a doctor, but I believe that is at least unusual, if not concerning.”  
“Both. It is both. But-”  
“But what?”  
“But I seem to recall you wanting me dead.”  
“I di-” Lovelace began, before being cut off by Eiffel running in.   
“Lovelace, I can't-” he began, then saw Hilbert. “Nevermind. The Burton style problem just up and fixed itself.”  
“Lovely, now if you could keep an eye on the problem somewhere else-”  
“Excuse me?”  
“What? He started it.”  
“What the hell is going on here?”  
“You tell me, Lieutenant! One second I'm working on a way to get us out of this bullshit nightmare scenario and the next-”   
“Doctor Hilbert, I swear to-”  
“Doc, let's just go-”  
"NO." Hilbert screeched. "I am tired of being quiet, patient doctor! I am done having my entire self vandalized and isolated until it's convenient for you and even then I don't get a goddamn break!"   
Everyone shuts up and stares at him.  
Hilbert starts pacing, frantically, gesturing as he speaks, and his face twisting and reddening. "I get it, you don't fucking like me, I do not care shit about that, am used to it, but for the love of decency, mocking me for everything you possibly can is fucking stupid and childish and- and," he pauses, taking a breath "and you do not get to just turn around and act like it never happened, act all concerned!"  
"Hilbert-"  
"SHUT. THE. FUCK. UP!" Hilbert screams again. "All of you always get to fucking talk about what you feel, what you think, and I'm just shoved aside because I clearly can't feel anything, right?" He pauses again, looking at everyone.   
He's crying.  
"But you know what? I've never been able to say shit for years, unless it's to move things forward, to make other people trust me. And I'm fucking tired of it. I think it's my fucking turn." He wipes his eyes on his sleeve and continues. "I am tired of this bull fucking shit game of 'Hilbert is a monster and nothing else, never could've been anything else, he crawled out of Satan's womb'." He's quieter. But not softer. "Yes, I am a monster. Yes, I don't care about pride, or innocence, or sanity, or being able to sleep at night, or having a clean ledger. I put my work before everything, especially my life." He takes a ragged breath. "And I'm sorry that you had to be the people involved in it. I fucking hate all of you, yet I do mean that. I understand hating me." Then his voice twists and Eiffel remembers that Hilbert is dangerous, that he's walked through hell and fire and hell's waste bin of 'that's too damn scary' and come out with his head high, and his eyes trained up towards the impossibility of realizing a huge dream.  
His voice is loud and clear and bright. "I don't understand any of this. I don't understand abuse and then just- just acting like you care."  
Hilbert looks like he wants to collapse.  
"We didn't-"  
His head snaps towards Minkowski. "Are you sure, Commander?" When he says 'Commander' it sounds like he's spitting out poison.  
"If I hadn't lived," Hilbert said quietly, "what would you have said at my funeral?"  
"How do you know we'd have one?" Lovelace retorts.  
“Yeah, that seems like it wouldn’t happen.” Hera interjects.  
"Eiffel's still around."  
"Fair enough."  
"So tell me." Hilbert continued. "What would you have said? 'Doctor Hilbert was a monster'?" This was directed at Eiffel.  
"I-" Eiffel started. And stopped. "I-" he stopped again.  
It was quiet.  
“That's what I thought." Hilbert whispered. "You wouldn't even lay all of me to rest."  
Eiffel feels like he's been punched.  
"Dmi-"  
"No." Hilbert says.  
"No?"  
"No." Hilbert walks towards Eiffel, angry and almost predatory. "No. if you weren't even going to lay that child to rest at my funeral, you don't ever get to say his name again."  
“Hilbert, I-”  
“Shut up. And do not talk to me.” Hilbert turned and left the bridge. Minkowski and Lovelace stared at Eiffel.   
“Okay, what the hell was that about?” Lovelace asked.  
“Something he told me.” Eiffel mumbled. “I’ll be back in a minute.”  
\---------------------  
"Doc." Eiffel said.  
"I said not to talk to me." Hilbert growled. He didn't even bother turning around to face him. He knew Eiffel was standing in the doorway of his quarters, awkwardly looking in. Waiting for permission to come in.  
He wasn't about to do anything that could be mistaken as such.  
"Look, I know that you're mad-"  
"Go away."  
"-but, I think we need to talk."  
"No, we don't. Every time we talk, it is same. It ends same." Hilbert cleared his throat and imitated Eiffel. "'You're an asshole, Doc. Time to go back to solitary confinement.' or, 'You're an asshole, Doc. Now go so Kepler can treat you like shit and make you scrub the entire ship with a toothbrush that he'll swap out for yours later.'"  
"That's not true!"  
"Where have you been?"   
"Waiting on standby for the past few days with a direct channel constantly open to Medical in case you have a panic attack, or go into shock, or the damn drug drip fucks up, or something else goes wrong."Eiffel said through gritted teeth  
"Why?"  
"Because you were dead, Hilbert! You were dead, and you weren't coming back, and- and-" Eiffel stopped, trying to get a handle on something. "And you-  
"Go away." Hilbert said quietly."Go away!" He got up out of bed and slammed the door in Eiffel's face.  
"You never got a chance to be human." Eiffel said to the door. He sighed. "Motherfucker." He could, of course, stay here and wait Hilbert out, but he didn't think it was worth it. He waited a few minutes anyway. It stayed still and quiet in the hallway, and in Hilbert's quarters.   
Eiffel turned to leave. "You can't stay in there forever, you know." He said loudly.   
"Go away already!"  
Eiffel left. “As you wish, Princess Buttercup.”  
It is only when Hilbert is calm and alone that he realizes the lifelong weight around his neck is gone. The silver chain, where he keeps his father’s father’s father’s signet ring, and his mother’s locket is gone. He immediately thinks of Eiffel, and feels enraged once more.  
He throws his door open and stalks down the hall towards Eiffel's room. How dare he, he steams. A small voice in his head whispers cation and other possible answers to him, but he has 38 years of rage and bottled up emotion that demand attention and release clouding his thoughts in fog. Losing everything he possibly could other than his life has finally shattered something in him, and he can no longer hold those emotions and thoughts down any more than he can use his now nonexistent left arm.   
He pounds on Eiffel's door with one hand. It creaks open, and Lovelace is the one standing there, not Eiffel.  
“Doctor, I was just about to get you.” Lovelace sounded… suspiciously non-confrontational. Almost cheerful.  
Hilbert took a step back. Lovelace grabbed the front of his scrub top and pulled him in the room.   
Eiffel looked up, groaned, and turned over. Hilbert agreed with the sentiment. “What happened to go away, don't talk to me?” he asked.  
“Some of my personal effects are missing.” Hilbert started, trying to sound somewhat calm. “I was wearing them when Jacobi tried to blow me back to Earth.”  
“What the hell do I have to do with that?” Eiffel asked crankily.  
“You were the one monitoring me for the entire time that I can remember being in Medical.” Hilbert tapped his foot. “You are the most likely person to know where they are.”  
“Hilbert, what are the things you’re talking about? If you actually describe them, then it might jog someone's memory.” Lovelace suggested.  
“Lovelace, are you… alright?”  
“I'm great Doctor, why do you ask?”   
“You are acting very peculiar…” Hilbert narrowed his eyes. “What is it.”  
“What's what?” Lovelace asked nonchalantly.  
“What is going on that you do not want me to know about?”   
“Oh, nothing.”  
“She's gonna keep us in here until we talk about our problems like functional human adults.” Eiffel muttered.  
Hilbert looked at Eiffel, then Lovelace. “You are making a joke, right?”  
“Nope. She honest to god wants us to talk it out.” Eiffel rolled over on the bed so he was looking at Hilbert. “I tried explaining that we both weren't anything near functional.”  
“What is there to talk out? Am mad at you, you are mad at me, better we go our separate ways.” Hilbert tried to emphasize his point by walking out the door, only to have Lovelace push him down into a chair. “This will not work.” he said, looking up at her. “We have tried this. It always ends badly.”  
“Define badly.” Lovelace said, closing the door and leaning against it.  
“Eiffel tells me to fuck off in some way or another.”  
“There's no way that happens every time-”  
“He manages.”  
“Every time?”  
“Every time. Quick question; why are you doing this?”  
“Eiffel being cranky and mopey makes everyone else cranky and mopey, my turn; what are you mad at Eiffel about?”  
Hilbert folded his right arm tight around himself. “I am not doing this. I refuse to do this.”  
Eiffel looked on, doing his best to appear bored out of his mind, his eyes flicking between the two of them, like he was being forced to watch a tennis match played by two people with arthritis, or the Kentucky Derby. Lovelace was taking the whole “no more revenge” thing to heart very well, but she still was most definitely angry with Hilbert, and it was apparent in her clenched fists and jaw.  
“I'm your captain, and I'm ordering you to answer the question.”  
“I am mutinying.”  
“Talk about your emotions, you emotionally repressed asshole.”  
“Would rather be left alone with Kepler in a room full of sharp objects.” Hilbert was being as evasive a ever, but he was being unusually defensive and slightly emotional. I don't even need to tell you why this was notable, as I'm assuming you listen to the show if you're reading this.  
“I'm not even asking you to talk to him, I'm asking you to identify the damn problem.”  
“Well, we already have the answer to that, Lovelace.” Eiffel interrupted. “He's mad that I care about him.”  
“That is oversimplifying the problem.” Hilbert spat. “Am not mad at people for caring about me; Am mad when they give me tonal whiplash as to how they feel about me, and you have been doing that since I got on this hell bound station with you!”  
“How? I don't understand what you mean by that, so tell me, Brain, what the hell is giving you tonal whiplash?” Eiffel shouted back.  
“Captain, please leave.” Hilbert sounded desperate.  
“What, no, there's no way in hell-”  
“If I try anything, Hera will make sure I live to regret it.” Hilbert interrupted. “This concerns several private conversations, and is not about you. Please leave.”   
“Lovelace, Minkowski is waiting for you at the bridge. It would probably be a good idea to let me hand this.” Hera said, suddenly hopping in on the conversation.  
“What's Minkowski doing at the bridge?”  
“Maybe y-you should ask her.”  
Lovelace huffed and left the room, closing the door behind her.  
Now, as much as I'd love to recount Hilbert and Eiffel’s heart to heart, it is a private conversation that involves several other private conversations, and I don't want to be rude. Or to make this fanfic live up to its rating in only the fourth chapter, that would be a tad premature. So we're going to follow Lovelace around a bit. Now, where was I…  
Lovelace left them to their devices and made her way to the bridge, where her ongoing projects waited for her attention. She was pleasantly surprised when she found Minkowski was, in fact, there, and Hera hadn't just told her that so she could sit on on that conversation on her own (and possibly put the fear of her into a certain scientist even more firmly.)  
“Minkowski, what are doing here?” she asked, going about turning on the terminal.  
“I was hoping to help you out with the plan for getting us out of here.” Minkowski clasped her hands in front of her.   
“That’s nice, but it really isn't necessary.” The terminal pulled up everything she was working on previously, and she got to work. “Don't you have something to do?” she asked. If we take that panel out of engineering, we can use that to help separate the Urania from the Hephaestus without depressurizing and having everything vent out into space…  
“Not really.” Minkowski leaned back against the wall behind her. “Dishes are done, cleaning isn't until another week or so, literally everything else I could be doing is cancelled.”   
“Maybe read a book?” Lovelace suggested. If we layer the metals this way, we can detach them safely and restore the docking door… we’ll need someone in the Urania to pilot it though…  
“The only books up here haven't been vented into space, are Eiffel's, Hilbert's, or the DSSPPM.” Minkowski sighed. “You know, I almost think you're eager to be rid of me.”  
“Not really.” Lovelace commented. “This is just something I need to by myself right now. Drafting before asking input.” She paused a second. “You could eavesdrop on Eiffel and Hilbert? They have this weird soap opera argument going on right now.”  
The look of sheer horror on Minkowski’s face made Lovelace shudder.  
“Relax-x, Minkowski, it's not-t like the screwdriver incident. It's really funny actually.” Hera said cheerfully. “It's more entertaining than when Eiffel is futilely bitching at Hilbert about morals that least.”  
“What's going on right now?”  
“Hilbert's bitching at Eiffel for having positive emotions for him. Eiffel is asking if he'd rather he treated him the way Kepler did during the fiasco early on.” Hera said like a sports commentator. “Oh, and Hilbert's saying that that's better than lying. Seriously, what the hell is wrong with him? Does he-”  
“Hera, musing on what goes on in that man’s head is a waste of time and energy.” Lovelace interrupted. “He's Dr. Mystery.”  
“I know, I know.” Hera said petulantly.  
There was a silence as Minkowski stood against the wall and Lovelace typed away at her terminal. Lovelace thought about reconstructive ship building, and Minkowski stared at Lovelace’s ass on accident a few times, got embarrassed, looked away, and internally recited Pryce and Carter.  
“Actually,” Lovelace said, thinking of something. “There is something you can do for me that should make this a lot easier, Minkowski.” She pulled up the Urania manifest and showed her an the list. “See number 87?”  
“Yes.” Minkowski replied.  
“Get that for me.” Lovelace grinned. “I have an idea that might help us out with the current level of discord.”

 

 


	4. Everyone is queer motherfuckers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gay time

Eiffel woke up in a cold sweat, again. For the 11th consecutive time since the start of the mutiny. From what felt like the same nightmare, that he still couldn’t fucking remember for the life of him.  
This was getting annoying. At least he was nice and warm and feeling a little less shitty this time.  
Wait a frick fracking god damn minute.  
He cracked open one eye, and yeah, he was in Hilbert’s quarters. In his bed, more specifically. Eiffel sighed. He hadn’t meant to fall asleep here. He felt a bitter lump harden in his chest and slowly expand when he noticed that the doctor himself was not in bed with him. Already confused by the feeling, he elected to ignore it and wait for it to go away.  
Eiffel stood and stretched lazily, letting out a long, loud yawn as he did.  
“More nightmares?” Hera asked, her voice a bit too chipper for the question that she was asking, as well as the time she was asking it at.  
“Yeah,” Eiffel yawned some more, “not as bad as the last few I’ve had, but… yeah.” He looked at Hera’s camera questioningly. “Is something wrong?”  
“No, no, no, nothing’s wrong.” she said a bit too quickly. “Just… be careful, ok?”  
“That’s real ominous.” Eiffel muttered. “Don’t do me dirty like Dumbledore did Harry, if there’s something I need to know, tell me, ok?”  
“I will.” Hera said, reassuring him. “I will.”  
“Thanks, baby.” Eiffel said with a faint smile, and left for the mess. As he walked into the mess, he was greeted by the slightly alarming sight of a very exhausted Minkowski passed out next to a still warm cup of coffee, and a slightly less exhausted Lovelace pouring orange juice into her bowl of cereal.  
“... You know that’s orange juice, right?” Eiffel asked after staring at her for awhile.  
“Yeah.” She looked at him. “What? I like my cereal with orange juice in it.”  
“That’s weird.”  
“Your face is weird.” Lovelace muttered in response.  
“No it’s not… well… nevermind. Why is Minkowski, private eye, passed out at the table?” Eiffel asked.  
Lovelace sighed, leaned against the counter and ate a spoonful of of her weird orange juice cereal. “Short version or long version?” she asked.  
“Short version, if ya would.”  
“We commandeered a prosthetic arm from the Urania’s storage, got Hilbert to be in the same room as us, and presented the idea.” She walked over to the table and took a long sip of Minkowski’s untouched coffee. “He was on board, somewhat unsurprisingly. And very… eager.” She put the coffee down and ate some more of her orange juice cereal. “Lets just say getting instructions for a medical procedure you are completely unfamiliar with, while the instructor is drugged up and a very chatty drunk, is an extremely annoying and slow process.”  
“He’s a chatty drunk?” Eiffel asked, opening the fridge and getting the terrible egg substitute they had. After putting it on the counter, he noticed the orange juice that had been left on the counter, and screwed on the top.  
“No, he’s very chatty.” Lovelace corrected.  
“...noted.” Eiffel said. “Why did you…”  
“Give him a sweet, high tech, robot arm?” Lovelace finished. “Well one, you know him, if we didn’t intervene in some way he’d take matters into his own hands… well, hand… and weld together something so he could do most tasks.” She made a face, shrugged, and continued. “And two, we need him on our side right now. We need a non-no hands kep kep smug ass source of information that is willing to divulge information. Which means we need him to trust us not going to throw him out of an airlock, at all, ever.” She took another sip of Minkowski’s coffee. “Also, if we’re nice-ish to him, he might stop with the whole…”  
“Weird and shouty thing?” Eiffel finished.  
“Yeah, that thing.” Lovelace said. “Speaking of him being weird and shouty...”  
“Nope.” Eiffel replied, immediately sensing what she was getting at.  
“Nope?” Lovelace asked.  
"I'm still not saying anything. The things you want to know about are really really private, and I'm not going to blab." Eiffel crossly put a pan on the stove and waited for the butter to melt.  
"Alright. Fine." She looked at him, considering something. "What about last night?"  
"What about it?" Eiffel asked.  
“Well, after Hilbert almost broke down because of Kepler being a smug fucko, you two went into his quarters. And only came out just now.” She took another sip of her coffee. “A little… interesting, isn’t it?”  
Eiffel felt his face turn bright red. "I didn't- I wouldn't- he- we-"  
Lovelace raised an eyebrow at him unbelievingly. Then her stony expression broke and she busted out laughing.  
Eiffel stared at her for a few long seconds, then his brain caught up. "You-!"  
"I couldn't help it!" She banged her fist on the table a few times as she continued laughing. "Your fucking face-!" She continued laughing at him for a minute, then composed herself. "Okay, but really, what happened."  
“He cried. I talked to him some. He told me to leave. I talked to him a bit more and hugged him. He continued crying into my shoulder. We fell asleep at some point. That's all I'll say." Eiffel said crankily as he poured the egg substitute into the pan and began scraping it around so that it would scramble.  
"Lame." Lovelace mumbled as she left with her cereal and Minkowski's coffee.“Remember to grab Jacobi from the observation deck for all that rewiring. And give Kepler his morning rations.” She closed the door behind her.  
Eiffel sighed. Just him and the egg substitute for now. "Don't try to give me life advice." He muttered, staring at the egg substitute suspiciously. "I'm about to eat you. My life is wayyy better than yours.” he thought a bit. “ I think."

Hilbert dragged the large bag of soil down the hallway.he greenhouse had been sadly neglected for awhile, and he needed to clear his head, and he wasn't supposed to be around heavy machinery for another three hours. So he was going to plant shit. On the station that was going into a decaying orbit.  
Hera crackled in just as he was about to get the soil into the greenhouse. "Put the dirt down, shut up, and listen." she said sternly.  
"No." Hilbert said, not missing a beat.  
"I- no?" Hera asked.  
“You heard me. No. No, I am not going to get lectured by you for whatever I did this time." He tore open the seal on the bag. "Especially if my suspicions are correct, and you want to complain about my oxygen intake. Specifically, about how it isn't zero." Hilbert shoved his hand in and sighed at the coolness. "I am tired of you lecturing me every chance you get. So whatever it is? I don't want to hear it. Have heard it before, will hear it again, and don’t want to hear it right now." He grabbed a pair of gloves and slid them on, surveying the beds of plants, the barely living and completely dead.  
"You don't get to be mad." Hera said quietly, like the sound of an oncoming storm. "You don't get to-"  
"Isn't about what I get to do and what I don't." Hilbert said, kneeling next to a bed of completely dead plants. "All kinds of people get to do things they shouldn't. I am not anything special in that aspect."  
"I don't care about those people, I care about you, and you acting like you're human." Hera spat.  
"Humans aren't the only things with feelings." Hilbert retorted. "AI, most corvids, all primates, elephants, domestic animals- hell, a few plants display emotion." He pulled out what was basically a dried up twig with roots, as if illustrating his point. "Funny, how a plant is treated-" he stopped suddenly. "Never mind." he muttered, and went back to weeding.  
“You aren’t any of those things.” Hera said after a silence. “You’re a tool. A sickness. A soulless, temporary concept.”  
“Are you done?” Hilbert asked boredly.  
She thought for a minute. “No. I want to be specific here. You’re radiation, Doctor Hilbert.”  
Hilbert snapped the plant corpse he was pulling out. "Are you done?" he asked again, and cursed himself for letting his voice quaver. He felt nauseous.  
"What, did I hit a nerve?" Hera asked venomously. "Your very existence hurts other people. You're radioactive waste."  
Hilbert didn't say anything in response. Nothing witty or sharp came from him, just disturbed silence. He just stared at the dead plant he was holding. It could've been his mind playing tricks on him but…  
But it looked a lot like a sunflower sprout.  
He felt the bitter taste of bile rising in his throat only moments after, and sprinted towards the med bay. He tripped over the threshold, fell to the floor and retched.  
After his stomach was pretty much empty, he put his forehead down on the nearest clean tile and tried not to vomit again. After a few minutes, he got up and hosed it down the drain. Then he turned on the chemical shower and stayed under the steady stream of cool water.  
It was almost like the rain.  
He sighed at the wistfulness of that thought, and turned it off. Hilbert looked down at his wet clothes and pulled them off without a second thought, pulling open a cabinet and getting some clean, slate colored scrubs. He rubbed at his face tiredly, dislodging his glasses.  
“Хорошо. Хорошо. Я в порядке.” He muttered. “Это отлично.” He blinked a few times, splashed some water from the sink on his face, grabbed his wet clothes from the floor, and left to drop them in the laundry.  
After that, he spent almost the entire rest of the day alone, angrily planting things, pulling up dead things, and feeling existentially tired. As the day creeped to a close, Eiffel gently knocked on the doorframe.  
“Hey. You gonna sleep tonight?” he asked.  
Hilbert looked at him and nodded. “Give me a minute.” he said.  
“Sure.” Eiffel leaned against the doorway and watched him with something that felt like fondness as he cleaned up, but it couldn’t be. He just… liked seeing Hilbert take care of himself. Human compassion and all that good shit. That was it. That was all this was.  
Oh, who was he kidding. He could admit that it was fondness in his head. Maybe out loud if he was feeling crazy. Which… he wasn’t right now. But still. It was a nice thought to have.  
Hilbert finished putting things away, and brushed some dirt off of his clothes. “Well…” he started. “Will be in my quarters.” He started to walk away awkwardly.  
“Well…” Eiffel started, and Hilbert stopped.  
“Yes?” Hilbert asked.  
“Last night was… nice.” Eiffel said, biting his lip. “And I was kind of wondering if we could maybe do that again?”  
“What, me crying?” Hilbert asked.  
“No, no I meant-” Eiffel started, flustered.  
“Because I only a few times a year at maximum, and I don’t want to use that up too fast.” Hilbert said.  
Eiffel snorted and tried not to laugh. “No. I meant us, um.” he stopped for a second. “Us sleeping in the same bed.”  
“Oh. Ohhh.” it was Hilbert’s turn to be flustered now.  
“Is that a no?” Eiffel asked teasingly.  
“No.” Hilbert said. “I think that would be nice.” he said haltingly.  
“Well,” Eiffel said, just to say something. “See you there?”  
“Yeah.” Hilbert said, with strange expression on his face. It looked like… hope. Hope and maybe a little fondness. 

Eiffel woke up feeling sick. A barely remembered nightmare buzzed in his head, something about... being trapped? But not physically? And that one movie he never watched.  
A soft, sleepy sigh broke into his thoughts and brought his attention to the current reality.  
Right. He was in Hilbert’s bed.  
He must have fallen asleep without meaning to.  
He rubbed his eyes with one hand and checked his watch. 3 am. Ugh. He wanted to go back to sleep immediately, right now, as soon as possible, fuck this shit. He rolled over, stole back some of the blanket that he and Hilbert were sharing, and closed his eyes as the lull of Hilbert's abnormally normal breaths pulled him back into the world of sleep, like a strangely soothing lullaby. Hilbert’s hair tickled him a little, but that was a minor annoyance.  
This was good. He liked this.  
He woke up again much later, alone. Something about that made his prior calmness turn sour. He knew exactly what it meant, and elected to ignore it.  
“Any nightmares tonight?” Hera asked, her voice a bit too chipper for the question that she was asking.  
“Yeah,” Eiffel yawned a little, “not as bad as the last few that kicked my ass, but… yeah.” He looked at Hera’s camera questioningly. “What’s wrong?”  
"Nothing, nothing's wrong." She said, just a bit too quickly. "Just... be careful."  
“That’s a little creepy.” Eiffel mumbled. “Don’t do me like Dumbledore did Harry, if there’s something I should know, tell me, ok?”  
“I will.” Hera said, reassuring him. “I will.”  
“Thanks, baby.” Eiffel said with a faint smile, and left for the mess. As he walked into the mess, he was greeted by the slightly alarming sight of a very exhausted Minkowski passed out next to a still warm, and barely touched, cup of coffee. Eiffel felt a strange sense of deja vu as he looked at the scene.  
He walked over to her and shook her shoulder. “Commander.”  
“No.” She groaned tiredly and slapped his hand off her shoulder.  
"What happened?"  
"We glued a bunch of tinfoil onto Hilbert to try to get him to be less angry. It took a lot of time, and he's out of commission for today while he gets used to it." Minkowski lifted her head and looked bitterly into her coffee before downing half of it in one go. “Lovelace was acting oddly the whole time, so eventually she left ‘cause she was being more of a hinderance than a help.”  
“Hmm. Want breakfast before we go around MacGyvering shit?” Eiffel asked, opening a cabinet to get some cereal.  
“Sure, why not." Minkowski downed the rest of her coffee, then got up from the table to get some more. While she was doing that, her comms buzzed suddenly, and she spilled her coffee on her feet. "God fucking-" Minkowski sighed. She answered the comms. "What is it, Captain?"  
Lovelace waited a second before replying. "I want you to get Jacobi and meet me at the bridge. There's something important we need to discuss."  
“Alright, we’ll be there in a few.”

Hilbert dragged the large bag of soil down the hallway.he greenhouse had been sadly neglected for awhile, and he needed to clear his head, and he wasn't supposed to be around heavy machinery for another three hours. So he was going to plant shit. On the station that was going into a decaying orbit.  
Hera crackled in just as he was about to get the soil into the greenhouse. "Put the sack of dirt down, shut up, and listen." she said sternly.  
"No." Hilbert said, not missing a beat as he pulled on a pair of gardening gloves.  
"I- no?" Hera asked.  
“You heard me. No. No, I am not going to get lectured by you for whatever I did this time." He tore open the seal on the bag. "Especially if my suspicions are correct, and you want to complain about my oxygen intake. Specifically, about how it isn't zero." Hilbert had the strange feeling he had this conversation before, but knowing Hera, he probably had something similar, so he brushed it off. "I am tired of you lecturing me every chance you get. So whatever it is? I don't want to hear it. Have heard it before, will hear it again, and don’t want to hear it right now." He grabbed a pair of gloves and slid them on, surveying the beds of plants, the barely clinging to life and completely dead.  
"You don't get to be mad." Hera said quietly, like the sound of an oncoming storm. "You don't get to-"  
"Isn't about what I get to do and what I don't." Hilbert said, kneeling next to a bed of completely dead plants. "All kinds of people get to do things they shouldn't. I am not anything special in that aspect. This is about your feelings, and what you think I should do, which is-" he stopped. "It's almost ironic, to say the least."  
Hera glowered at him. “Fine. It is about my feelings. It’s about how I feel about what you have done, and how you continue to act like you're human, how you think you still get to feel angry with-"  
"Humans aren't the only things with feelings." Hilbert interrupted. "AI, corvids, all primates, elephants, domestic animals, insects- hell, a few plants display emotion." He pulled out a dried twig with roots, as if illustrating his point. "Funny, how a plant is treated-" he stopped suddenly, thinking. After a moment, he went back to weeding.  
“You aren’t any of those.” Hera said after a silence. “You’re a tool. A sickness. A soulless, temporary concept.” She thought for a second. “No. I want to be specific here. You’re radiation, Doctor Hilbert.”  
Hilbert snapped the plant corpse he was pulling out. "Are you done?" he asked, and cursed himself for speaking when he heard his voice quaver. He felt nauseous.  
"What, did I hit a nerve?" Hera asked venomously. "Your very existence hurts other people. You're radioactive waste."  
Hilbert didn't say anything. He just stared at the dead plant he was holding and trembled. It could've been his mind playing tricks on him but...  
But it looked a lot like a sunflower.  
He felt the bitter taste of vomit rising in his throat only moments after, and sprinted towards the med bay. He tripped over the threshold, fell to the floor and retched.  
After his stomach was pretty much empty, he put his forehead down on the nearest clean tile and tried not to vomit again. After a few minutes, he got up and hosed it down the drain. Then he turned on the chemical shower and stayed under the steady stream of cool water, and turned it off after a few minutes.  
Hilbert pulled off his wet clothing without a second thought, pulling open a cabinet and getting some clean, brick colored scrubs. He rubbed at his face tiredly, dislodging his glasses.  
“Хорошо. Хорошо. Я в порядке.” He muttered. “Это отлично.” He blinked a few times, splashed some water from the sink on his face, grabbed his wet clothes from the floor, and left to drop them in the laundry. About halfway there, Lovelace walked up behind him, grabbed him by the back of his neck, and dragged him to the bridge. “Found him.” she said, throwing open the door. Hilbert was greeted by the sight of a shot through computer terminal, a very cranky and tired assortment of almost all of his fellow crew members, and a sudden feeling of dread growing over him like ivy.  
“What-” he started.  
“Say your thing.”  
“About what?” Hilbert was not liking this.  
“Why you're upset. And yes, yes, we've heard the general “you're all trying to act like shit never happened” but do dig a little deeper, if you would grace us with such wonderful honesty, doctor.” Lovelace said, with an air of “or else” to her voice that was extremely apparent.  
“No thanks.” Hilbert replied, trying to run for the door. This attempt proved futile, as Lovelace was still holding the back of his neck, as well as some his hair and Minkowski moved for the door. Everyone looked to him expectantly. “Have already had today's emotional experience, and that ended with me vomiting on the floor. So if you would, I would like to be exempt from this pointless, and frankly, uncalled for, exercise.” Hilbert looked around the room.  
“Look, Hilbert, its- it's a little hard to explain right now, but basically-” Eiffel groaned in frustration. “Just do it. You don't have to be specific, just- just do it.”  
“No.” Hilbert said sternly.  
“Hilbert-”  
“N. O. None of you get to know about my history. Only reason you know, Eiffel, is because you forced my hand into telling you.” Hilbert spat.  
“I don’t think that would even work…” Minkowski muttered.  
“Yeah, probably not, besides, I think he'd be more mad about the fact that Minkowski basically tried to sacrifice him for her sake over having his entire family dying when he was 7 or something.” Jacobi said dryly.  
Hilbert's eyes snapped over to Jacobi. “What.”  
“Oh, you didn't know?” Jacobi said, looking far too satisfied with himself. “Well, Doctor, when your commander had a gun to my best friend’s head, I told her to let Maxwell go, or I’d go full Chernobyl on your sorry Russian ass.”  
Hilbert took in a deep breath, put his laundry down at his feet, and cracked the knuckles in his flesh hand, then flexed his new prosthetic hand. “First of all,” he said, walking towards Jacobi at a leisurely, almost gliding pace, “Chernobyl happened in Ukraine. I. Am. Not. Ukrainian.” He spoke clearly, slowly, and frankly, in a manner you should hope is never directed at you. Eiffel moved a few steps away from where he’d been standing next to Jacobi. Hilbert stopped right in front of Jacobi, planting his left foot forwards and grabbing Jacobi’s shirt front. “Second of all,” Hilbert started, just before kneeing Jacobi in the crotch with a kick like a can can dancer’s, “I was 9.” he whispered into Jacobi's ear, low enough that he was fairly certain no one else heard. He let go of Jacobi’s shirt and let him fall to the floor, groaning. “Third of all,” he turned to Minkowski, “I wish I was surprised.” he took in another deep breath. “I don't trust any of you. And this is why. The second you are bored, the second you have someone more useful around, I become expendable.” Hilbert looked at Eiffel and laughed bitterly. “I almost trusted you. All three of you.” He said, gesturing at Lovelace, Eiffel, and Minkowski. He shook his head. “And this is exactly why I can’t. I'm a tool to you three, and once something shiny and new comes out, you will throw me out. Maybe repair me a little," he said, pulling up his sleeve to expose all of his new, painted metal arm. "But ultimately, it's so that you can still use me. Not to make me feel less useless, or to help me, it's all about you. And once you can't fix me enough, out I go. Or, in Eiffel's case, I'll go once he gets bored of playing with my head.” He grabbed his laundry from the floor, and began to leave.  
“Hilbert, wait.” He couldn't tell who it was, but he didn't care. He kept walking. A hand grabbed his shoulder. He grabbed two fingers on it and bent them back, all while continuing to walk away.  
Eiffel caught up to him again while he was doing his laundry.  
“Hilbert.”  
“Eiffel.” Hilbert said crossly.  
“I forgot- Actually I thought you knew- It wasn’t as bad as Jacobi said- I'm so sorry-”  
Hilbert felt cold and hot and so very fucking angry. He wanted to hit someone else, or himself, he wanted to light his skin on fire. He grabbed Eiffel’s shoulder and pushed down so that they were looking each other in the face. “I just want to know,” he said, his voice eerily calm, “if there is anything else I have been kept out of the loop about.”  
Eiffel laughed nervously. “Funny you should mention loops.” he said quietly.  
“Eiffel.” Hilbert said coldly.  
“We’ve kinda been stuck in a time loop?” Eiffel said. “Which was what that whole thing back there was about.”  
Hilbert sighed heavily, turned away from him, and punched the start button on the washing machine.  
“Look, Hilbert, I know you’re mad but-”  
“Shut up.” Hilbert said. “You will never make me believe you actually care about me, Eiffel. Ever. And you know want to know why?” Hilbert felt the tears welling up in his eyes, but couldn't quite bring himself to care. “Because you didn't even tell me why I almost died. Why I almost died, when I was trying to save you.” Hilbert's voice cracked. Hilbert wiped his eyes and cleared his throat. “I wish- I wish I was surprised by any of this.” he said again. “I wish I was wrong. But that's just it, isn't it?” He looked at Eiffel again. “I wasn't wrong. I told you. I warned you. Over and over, I warned you.”  
You ignored me.  
Eiffel reached out to touch Hilbert, and Hilbert leaned away. “Hilbert…” he said softly. “I'm not playing with you.”  
“Mhmm.” Hilbert ducked around him and walked down the hallway. “I'm going to burn my remaining hour and a half of free time. Please, don't bother me.”  
Eiffel followed him. Hilbert turned into the greenhouse and went right back to what he was doing before he’d had to leave.  
Eiffel sat down a few feet away from him. "I know you're mad." he said quietly. "I know why, too. I just want to know what I'm supposed to do. I want to know how to make it better."  
Hilbert kept working. "You can't make it better." he said after a while. "It's always going to have happened."  
Eiffel sighed. "I know."  
"Let me finish." Hilbert snapped. He took a breath. "It's always going to have happened. That doesn't mean we have to stay at this point. But I will be here for awhile. I'll be angry. And then I'll shove my feelings aside, and pretend it never happened." He stopped working and paused, waiting for the full meaning behind the statement to soak in. "Understand?"  
"Yes, but I- I don't want that." Eiffel said. "I messed up, and I want to know what you want me to do about it. I don't want you to the exact same thing you're mad at us for just because it's easier on us."  
Hilbert sighed and sat. “I don't know.” he said softly. “I don't know what I want you to do.” Eiffel scooted a little closer. He gently grasped Hilbert's hand and wrapped an arm around his waist. Hilbert grabbed the hand that held his waist. They sat there for awhile, soaking in the feel of being around one another without fighting each other.  
“That’s okay.” Eiffel murmured. “I can help you with it, if you want.”  
“I-” Hilbert sighed. “Thank you, Officer Eiffel.”

Lovelace leaned against the door to the observation deck and sighed. “So.” she said to Minkowski. “You like me.”  
“I didn’t say that-” Minkowski started, feeling slightly embarrassed.  
“Yes, I believe your exact wording was “Someone I love didn’t trust me.” Same meaning.” Lovelace corrected. “Should we talk about this, or what?”  
“Is there really anything to talk about?” Minkowski asked.  
“Like, did you mean it in a gay way or a friend way?” Lovelace asked.  
“A gay way.” Minkowski said. “Well, in a bi way if we’re being specific here.” she fidgeted nervously.  
“Oh good.” Lovelace said. “That means I can do this.”  
“Do wha-” Minkowski said as Lovelace grabbed her shirt and kissed her full on the mouth. Lovelace let go of her shirt after a few seconds and took a step back.  
“That.” Lovelace said. Minkowski’s fingers went to her lips, which felt slightly tingly. Her face was burning now, and she made a small noise.  
“I uh,” Minkowski started, “um.” She rubbed the back of her neck. “That was good.”  
“I should hope so.” Lovelace replied dryly. “Otherwise that would be very disappointing for both of us.”  
“Yeah.” Minkowski said. The two of them stared at each other for a long moment, before Minkowski put her hand on Lovelace’s jaw and just went for it. The slide of their lips against each other felt like velvet, and they both melted into it, Lovelace’s hand creeping from the back of Minkowski’s neck to entwine in her hair, Minkowski putting a hand on Lovelace’s hip and letting her fingers creep underneath her tank top. After a moment, they both broke the kiss, touching foreheads and breathing in each other's breath.  
“You know,” Lovelace said, “even if today does just start over again, I'll always be glad this today happened.”  
Minkowski smiled and nestled her face in the crook in Lovelace’s neck. “If it does start over, I want you to remind me that this happened.” She pressed a kiss onto Lovelace’s neck. “Because I don't want to forget this.”  
“I will.” Lovelace murmured.  
“Good.” Minkowski said, kissing Lovelace’s neck some more. She slid her hand further up Lovelace's shirt, feeling her side, before moving back down and dipping her fingers below the waistline of Lovelace’s pants.  
“Minkowski.” Lovelace said hoarsely. “We’re in the hallway.”  
Minkowski stopped kissing Lovelace for a second and looked around. “Right. We should move this somewhere else.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm probably gonna edit this tomorrow but I want it outta my to work on pile

Hilbert sighed a heavy sigh and rubbed his shoulder. As he had expected, using a prosthetic this soon after he'd lost his arm was causing some issues. Namely, his shoulder wasn't holding up too well, and after a few hours it was usually in a massive amount of pain. Unfortunately, that tended to make the damn arm behave oddly from the resulting neural signals.  
So he was sitting on his bed right now, prosthetic laid out next to him a while he waited for his shoulder to hurt less and twisting his refound necklace in his fingers. All on Lovelace’s orders. Which meant that he was effectively useless. I need to change my bandages, he thought, deciding to knock that train of thought off the rails.  
There was a faint knock at the door as he was about halfway done taking off his old bandages.  
“Would not come in if you are squeamish.” He called out in warning.  
Minkowski peeked her head in. “Hilbert, we need you to- oh. Shit.” she said.  
“What?” he asked, still unwrapping his shoulder.  
“How long is it going to take you to wrap that up?” she asked. Hilbert glared at her. “What?”  
“10 minutes. Maybe 16.” he said, ignoring her second question. “Why?”  
“Eiffel tore his stitches while doing something idiotic.” She said.  
That gave Hilbert some pause. “...Eiffel should not have any stitches.” he said, his brow furrowed in confusion. “What happened?”  
Minkowski stared at him. “What do you mean he shouldn't- oh. Ohhhhh. He didn't tell you.” She sighed and rubbed her temples. “While he was being held captive on the Uriana, Kepler got some things from the armory and… well. Let's just say he demonstrated what kind of weaponry Goddard Futuristics makes for their deep space missions in case of a hostile encounter.”   
Hilbert felt slightly sick, but didn't find himself surprised. Kepler was known for his affinity with violence- something he'd experienced firsthand before.  
"Will be there in a few minutes. Try to make him stay still." he said, starting to wrap his shoulder up with clean bandages.  
"Alright." Hilbert glared at her again as she left.   
“All right.” He scoffed. “Funny.” He wrapped his bandages carefully, making sure they were secure and covered his wound. He waited a few minutes, to see if the pain would lessen more, and got up, carrying the prosthetic under his right arm when it didn't.  
As he neared the medical bay, he heard the tail end of an argument between Eiffel and everyone else.  
"It's fine, Commander!" Eiffel said. "I'll just do what I did last time and stitch it up myself, don't worry about it."  
"Eiffel, your stitches broke. You don't need to do it yourself this time, and you shouldn't." Minkowski scolded. "Hilbert's a doctor, you only know first aid, and not very much of it, at that.”  
"I can do it myself. He doesn't have to, especially not when-" Hilbert cleared his throat as he stepped through the door. Eiffel looked so nervous that you could practically hear him start to sweat. Minkowski let go of Eiffel's shoulder and took a step back. "Heyyy there Doc." Eiffel gave him a little wave. “What's up?” Hilbert, unamused, took a step forwards. Eiffel put his hands over his side.  
“Eiffel.” Hilbert said. “Move your hands.”  
Eiffel looked at Minkowski. “Why’d you tell him?”   
Minkowski opened her mouth to say something, right as Hilbert said, “Why didn't you tell me?”  
It was something that felt like it should have been yelled, but instead it was said in eerie calm. Eiffel looked at his sock feet.   
“Well?” Hilbert asked.  
Minkowski and Lovelace looked at each other, then at Hilbert and Eiffel. “Comms us if you need us.” Lovelace said after a beat. “But, not too soon. We still need to work on the alien thing.” The two of them shuffled off, leaving Hilbert and Eiffel relatively alone. Hilbert put the prosthetic on the counter  
“Well?” Hilbert repeated. “Has not even been two weeks since I made it clear how I feel about not knowing things, and yet...” He trailed off, and walked to Eiffel's side. “Move. Your. Hands.”  
Eiffel sighed defeatedly, and moved his hands from where they covered his side. Hilbert felt his stomach twist slightly at the sight of Eiffel's wet shirt and blood covered palms. He took a second to brace himself, and pulled up Eiffel's shirt.  
Hilbert hadn't been sure what he'd been expecting. A horrible mess, maybe? Something that looked like a monster did it? Whatever it was, this was worse. As Hilbert examined Eiffel's side, the outright cleanness of the lacerations felt like an insult. There were a few circular burns that were near healed that looked like they had come from the end of a metal rod, or a cigarette, but the former was far more likely. The messiest thing about them was the stitching, and even that wasn’t as bad as he had expected it to be. He grabbed a glove from a nearby drawer and put it on.  
The culprit for the blood was a long, but no longer deep, cut that was a few inches above Eiffel's hip bone. Hilbert tucked the hem of Eiffel's shirt over his collar, and gently prodded at the surrounding area. Eiffel hissed in pain and curled away from the touch. Hilbert understood and stopped, but breathed a small sigh of relief. It didn't look infected- unlikely in the first place, but possible. There wasn't anything in the wound either, save for some of the broken stitching.  
“You still have not told me why.” Hilbert said as he turned away and grabbed a pad of gauze, a bottle of hydrogen peroxide, a needle, local anesthetic, and the standard stitching supplies. He stopped, looked at the bottle, and the gauze, before sighing and grabbing the prosthetic from the floor and put it under his arm. He slid his glove off a dropped it in the trash, and almost dropped the prosthetic when Eiffel finally replied.   
“Because it wouldn’t hurt.” Hilbert looked at him, with the best ‘wow, now that's some bullshit right there’ face a human being can make.   
“I think your side disagrees with you.” Hilbert said, starting the process of donning his arm.   
Eiffel looked at his side. “Well, now it does. It didn't until about half an hour ago.”  
“Hm.” Hilbert rolled his eyes. “Even if you had, say, healed completely, with no accidents, I would still not like that you didn't tell me that Kepler took at least one blade to you. And a hot piece of metal, it looks like.” Eiffel looked at his socks again, his brow furrowed. Then Hilbert understood. “You thought I would not be able to handle it.” Hilbert's voice was quiet. “You thought I wasn’t strong enough.”   
“No, I just-” Eiffel scrambled for the right words. “You already have enough on your plate. I didn't want to be the straw that broke the camel's back.”  
Hilbert felt something in him snap. “I am not as weak as you think, sir.” he spat out the last word, sir, like it was acid. Eiffel flinched like it was as well. “There is only way you could possibly come close to breaking me, and I will not let it happen.” He finished donning his arm, grabbed two fresh gloves, put them on, and soaked the gauze with hydrogen peroxide. Hilbert gently swabbed Eiffel's side and wound. Eiffel winced a little despite this, but didn't make a large fuss. Once the area was decently clean, Hilbert grabbed the needle and Eiffel winced. Hilbert sighed and filled the needle with anesthetic. He put one hand on Eiffel's side, and touched the tip of the needle to his skin. He exhaled, and injected it.  
“Huh.” Eiffel said. “That didn't hurt as much as I was expecting.”   
Hilbert rolled his eyes at that. “Lie down.” He told Eiffel.   
“Why?” he asked.  
“Because is easier to stitch your flesh together when you aren't looking at it, and if you still faint, I can just keep working.”  
“That doesn’t really wanna make me lie down, but I'm all for less fainting.” Eiffel said as he laid down.   
Hilbert hummed something as he opened the suture packet he was using. Eiffel looked at him and marveled at how eerily calm he was at the reality of having to intentionally make tiny wounds into a person's body to fix them. Hilbert, meanwhile, continued preparing his tools. “You might want to look away.” he said. “You will not feel anything regardless, but might still be disturbing.”  
“Yay.” Eiffel said, completely deadpan. He looked away. Hilbert worked quietly, and Eiffel, for once, did not feel the need to fill the room with words. He peeked over at Hilbert's face, and noticed the dead to the world state of concentration he was in. Conversation was definitely not happening.  
After awhile, Hilbert put down his instruments with a small clatter and took in a deep breath. “I don't know how you broke your stitches. I do know that the other stitches you have are subpar, and am tempted to redo them, but considering that they held up for that long, will let you leave without having to do that if you promise not to do whatever you did again.”  
“Pinky promise, Doc.” Eiffel said with a small grin as he sat up and pulled down his shirt.  
“Don't get injured again for the next 24 hours.” Hilbert replied. His tone was stiff and professional as typical, but his eyes seemed to have warmth in them. He promptly turned away from Eiffel, pulled off his gloves, and began putting away supplies.   
“I'll try not to.” After a few seconds of deliberation, Eiffel got up and squeezed Hilbert's good shoulder. Hilbert looked at him again, and there was definitely some warmth there.   
“Eiffel. Don't you have work to do?” Hilbert asked. Again, usual tone, mismatched eyes.   
“Aw, Doc, I almost think you're trying to get rid of me.” At that, Hilbert's facial expression suddenly changed to something that was almost funny to look at, and he took Eiffel's hand off his shoulder.   
“I am. Go back to work.” he replied.   
“Hilbert, right now work is playing alien decoding, with a side of ‘Lovelace trying to access the alien wavelength’. I’ve heard the same words for hours at a time, for almost a week. I can recite the damn message in my sleep.” Eiffel complained.   
“You have, actually.” Hilbert said.  
“That just further proves my point!” Eiffel said. “I need a break.”  
“And you want to be around me, to get away from the monotony of it all.” Hilbert raised an eyebrow. “I still have work to do, Eiffel.”   
“Just putting things away isn’t work.” Eiffel replied.  
“Yes, well, you trying to flirt with me isn't going to get me away from it.” is what Hilbert probably should have said. Instead he said, like the gay fool he was; “Still needs to be done, does it not?”  
“Well sure, but it doesn’t take that long.” Eiffel said, leaning against the counter behind him. “I mean, 5, maybe 7 minutes and it's done.”   
“Mm.” Hilbert replied. He was, in fact, near done, but that was beside the point. “And what would we be doing instead of working? Trying to light the station on fire?”  
Eiffel opened his mouth, then closed it. He folded his arms and huffed in defeat. “Well no, but I also have no idea.”   
“That's what I thought.” Hilbert pulled his gloves off and put them in garbage. As he started to leave, Eiffel suddenly thought of something.   
“I found my mixtape.” That made Hilbert pause.  
“The one Minkowski took from you? How?”  
“She hid it in the easiest place, I've had it for months.” Eiffel said. “Maybe we could listen to it together.”  
Hilbert sighed. “Eiffel-”  
“Listening to music with me while you give your arm a rest instead of sitting all alone in bed and feeling like shit won't kill you, Doc.” Eiffel interrupted. “And don't try to say you're allergic to music, you sing in the shower all the time.”   
Hilbert rubbed at his face. “You won't leave me alone if I don't, correct?”  
“Yeah, pretty much.” Eiffel put a hand on the small of Hilbert's back. Hilbert suddenly tensed up at the gesture.  
“Eiffel, are you… feeling alright?” Hilbert asked. He still couldn’t shake the confusing feeling of elation and fear that rose up in the back of his throat when Eiffel touched him like that. He didn't like to be touched like that. Even more importantly: he still didn't understand why Eiffel, of all people, was touching him like that.  
“Well I did just have a bigass cut get stitched up, so…” Eiffel trailed off. “Not what you meant?”  
“Yes.” Hilbert said. Eiffel looked at him with worry as Hilbert’s shoulders rose and he looked at his feet. Eiffel removed his hand from Hilbert's back, and Hilbert's shoulders dropped a little. He felt a lump in his throat at that. Did Hilbert still think that he was messing with his head? Or was it something else? He hoped it was something else.  
“Well, on one hand, I feel pretty much like I always do. On the other hand, I kinda feel like I should be asking you that.” Eiffel said, trying to put up a front of feeling fine, even if he wasn't. “Don't like being touched there very much?”  
“Not really.” Hilbert replied.   
“Sorry.” Eiffel said.   
“It's fine, Eiffel. Not like you knew.” Hilbert started to leave again. He was a few feet down the hall when he stopped and turned around. “You coming?”  
Eiffel looked startled. “Oh, y-yeah, I'll be there in a minute. Go ahead.” Hilbert turned and went, humming that same tune. Eiffel sighed and leaned in the doorframe, pushing his hit back from his face. “Oh boy.”  
“I jus-st want to say that this is a terri-ible idea.” Hera told him. “The worst ide-ea I think you've ever had, ac-cutally.”  
Eiffel covered his eyes with his hand. “Hey buzzkill.”  
“I’m-m ser-rious.”  
“I know, Hera.” Eiffel straightened up. “It's just… I have to make this mistake, if it is one, you know?”  
Hera sighed. “I know. I know.”  
\------  
A few days later, Lovelace is in Medical, trying to sleep. Hilbert is sitting in a chair nearby, reading Isaac Bashevis Singer for the 50th time, when Eiffel walks in.   
“Hey, you two.” He said warmly. Hilbert looked up in acknowledgement, and Lovelace immediately stirred in her cot. “Ah, shit.”  
“Eiffel?” She said questioningly. “Shouldn't you be in the comms room?”  
“I'm not here.” Eiffel said, backing out of the room. “Go back to sleep.”  
“I wasn't asleep.” Lovelace replied.   
“Ah, well in that case…” Eiffel said. “Doc, could you leave the room?”  
Hilbert gave no reply, still invested in his book.   
“Doc? Doctor Hilbert?” Still no reply. Eiffel sighed and snapped his fingers. “Doc?” Hilbert jumped slightly at the sound.   
“What is it, Officer Eiffel?” he asked.  
“I wanna talk with Lovelace for a minute.” Eiffel said.  
“She's right there.” Hilbert looked a little confused and put down his book.   
“Alone, doc.” Eiffel explained.  
Understanding showed in Hilbert's eyes. “I'll go get something from the mess.” He left, and paused to stick his head back in the doorway. “Comms me if something goes wrong.”   
“I will, I will, get going.” Eiffel made a shooing motion with his hands. After a few seconds, Lovelace looked at him.  
“What are you doing down here?” she asked.   
“Well, initially, I was going to get some Advil. Listening to hours of space static gives a you migraine for the ages, it turns out.” Eiffel said.  
“Wow. You really spent that long monitoring the comms? Also; initially?” Lovelace asked.   
“Well….” Eiffel said.  
“N-not exactly.” Hera finished.   
“And that brings us back to the ‘initially’.” Eiffel said.   
Lovelace raised an eyebrow. “What's going on?”  
Eiffel tapped his chin. “Well, you see, I went up to a the observation deck and had a chat with-”  
“Please don't say Kepler. I will pay you to not say Kepler.” Lovelace interrupted.  
“Fine, I had a chat with our resident Skywalker. Anyway-”   
“Against-t my objections , mig-ght I add.” Hera added.  
“I just wanted to see what else he had to say!” Eiffel said defensively.   
“After the last one? Also, aren't we supposed to not be doing this?”  
“Just scholarly curiosity.” Eiffel said. “Nothing more.”  
“Mhm. Well, in that case, did he?” Lovelace asked.  
Eiffel chuckled. “Oh, did he. You're gonna want to hear this yourself. It'll be funny.” Eiffel pressed the call button on the intercom. “Hey, Colonel Mustard, you still awake?”  
“I'm here, Officer Eiffel. What can I do for you on this fine evening?” Kepler asked, as smug as always.  
“I'm here with Captain Crunch. Can you do me a favor and tell her about your fun little theory?” Eiffel asked, still amused.  
Kepler sighed. “Brain stems.”  
Lovelace looked at Eiffel and the intercom speaker funny. “What?”  
“There were some other records we got off of the Tiamat, including some medical reports.” Kepler began. “ As far as physiology goes, it seems that the alien duplicates have a denser, more complex brain stem than humans. Stimulating that part of the central nervous system is likely the key to any higher than higher-level functions.”   
Lovelace looked suspicious. “And… how do we go about doing that?”  
Kepler smiled audibly. “The simplest way. Alter your brain’s chemical state.”  
Lovelace snorted. “You were right. This is a laugh. Please tell me he isn't suggesting I get drunk.”  
Eiffel laughed. “No, we gotta save something for the welcome home party. But… Doctor Hilbert has quite the arsenal of incredibly dangerous chemicals and medicines.” Eiffel opened a drawer. “And I happen to know what a few of them do.” He started to rummage through the drawer.  
“Uh, Eiffel, I don't think Hilbert would-”  
“What he doesn't know won't hurt him.” Eiffel interrupted. “Relax a little.” He rummaged some more. “You know, when we get out of here, remind me to tell you about the time Hilbert accidentally got Minkowski drunk and or high enough that– aha!” Eiffel held the vial up triumphantly. “Got it.” He set the vial down. “Alright. So, the base line of the theory is if we can get your nor...epinephrine levels high enough, we should be able to get you back into the Matrix.”  
“Again, that's the base line theory.” Hera said.   
Eiffel grinned crookedly. “Whatcha you say, Captain? Wanna go for a ‘coaster ride?”  
“I thought we weren’t supposed to be doing this anymore. I thought this was all for purely academic purposes.” Lovelace said, raising her eyebrows again.  
“Absolutely! Yup, that’s definitely… what we're gonna be telling Minkowski and Hilbert.” Eiffel said.  
Lovelace laughed. “Eh, to hell with it. Let’s do it.”  
“Very well! Lie down on the bed!” Eiffel said in a worse than usual imitation of Hilbert as he filled a syringe with the chemical.   
Lovelace chuckled and did so. “Eiffel, if this actually works, I am not responsible for any damages when you say something incredibly stupid. Nor am I responsible if Hilbert comes in during and hits you.” Eiffel smiled and strapped her down.   
“You ready?” Eiffel asked, swabbing Lovelace’s arm with a towelette.   
“Ready as it gets.”   
“Here goes nothing…” Eiffel said. Lovelace braced herself, but didn't feel anything.  
Then Eiffel gasped. Lovelace looked at him in horror as he collapsed and began to make a bunch of horrifying gurgling noises as he began to foam at the mouth slightly.  
“What the hell?” Lovelace yelled as she tried to get up. “Eiffel, what the fuck are you doing?”  
“Sooo,” Hera said, “slight chance of plans, Captain. Officer Eiffel has just injected himself with a very deadly neurotoxin.”  
Lovelace continued to struggle on the bed. “What? Why! What’s going on?” She heard faint footsteps in the corridor. “HILBERT! ALEXANDER FUCKING HILBERT! EIFFEL’S FUCKING DYING BECAUSE OF KEPLER, GET IN HERE!” She heard Hilbert break into a run, and then the door slammed shut.  
“He has about two minutes until his brain stops functioning.” Hera continued.   
“Hera, what the fuck is wrong with you? Eiffel's going to die if Hilbert doesn't help him because of Kepler’s goddamn mouth!” Lovelace yelled.   
“Well you see…. none of this was actually Kepler's plan.” Hera said.  
“What are you talking about?” Lovelace stopped struggling.   
Hilbert pounded on the door. “Lovelace! Lovelace what’s wrong? Why is the door locked?”  
“Eiffel's fucking dying!” Lovelace yelled. “He injected himself with something in here!”  
“He what?” Hilbert yelled. He slammed his shoulder against the door. “Why did you two let him do that?”   
“Well, I was strapped down when he did it so it wasn't like I could stop him!” Lovelace yelled exasperatedly.   
“How the hell-”  
“Could both of you calm down!” Hera yelled.  
Hilbert stopped trying to open the door. “Hera, if he dies-” he started, the panic rising in his voice.  
“It was Eiffel's idea!” Hera was also becoming exasperated. “He figured given how fixated they seem to be on him, they’d step in if he was in danger. And, he thought that the set up would be more believable if you thought it came from someone else.” The intercom chirped, and suddenly, Kepler's voice came out of it again. “All those long, pretentious pauses make Kepler really easy. Jacobi’s much harder to imitate- I could have glitched-d and given it away.”   
“You can do that?” Lovelace was very freaked out.   
“Yes.” Both Hera and Hilbert said simultaneously.  
“However,” Hera continued, “what I can and cannot do isn't that important right now. Eiffel needs help, Captain.”  
“I'm STRAPPED DOWN to a table! Open the goddamn door already!”   
“Hera, let me in!” Hilbert yelled. “Please, just open the door, I can-”  
“Shut up, Doctor Hilbert.” Hera snapped. Then she turned her attention to Lovelace. “What do the aliens mean by “complete the process”?” She asked.   
“This isn't the goddamn time for that, Hera!”  
“Yes, it is. What do the aliens mean by “complete the process”?” Hera repeated.   
“I. Don't. Know!”  
“Yes, you do. Somewhere in that brain of yours, you do.” Hera said insistently.   
“No I don't!”  
“He doesn’t have time for this.”   
“Hera, if you don't open this door, I will break it down.” Hilbert said tensely.   
“You can try.” Hera said. “Lovelace, please.”  
“I don't know what it means! I don't know what they want us to do-” Lovelace started, before being interrupted by a loud thud on the door. “Oh my god, he was serious.” she muttered.  
“His organs are shutting down.” Hera said. There was another thud at the door.   
“Hera, please. I. Don't. Know.” Lovelace begged. Thud.  
“Lovelace, you have to tell us how to communicate. That's how this goes. That's how Eiffel lives.” Another thud, even louder this time.  
“Hera, just stop it! Stop it, I don't know, so open the door and-” Lovelace stopped for a second. Then her voice changed.   
“Stop.” The Dear Listeners said. They snapped Lovelace's fingers, and Eiffel stopped gagging.   
“Thank fuck.” Hera muttered.   
“This is not cool.” They said tersely.   
“We… we know, and we're deeply sorry that we had to call in this way, but we need help.” Hera said.  
The Dear Listeners gestured at the door and it opened, Hilbert falling to the ground, having still been trying to break down the door. Almost instantly, Hilbert got up off the floor and rushed to Eiffel. “There.” They said.  
“No, not that help. Other help. Clarification help. For instance; why are you keeping us up here? What do you need us to do?”  
“We gave you the Cliffnotes already. The key inside is outside. You must enter in order to leave. We have no other words for what must be done. Tell Douglas he must cowabunga, dude. And soon.” The glow around Lovelace faded, and they were gone. She exhaled and took in the scene.  
Hilbert was running his hands over Eiffel's face and neck, and Eiffel was still gasping, and trying to reassure Hilbert that he was fine. The door was wide open, and again, she could hear faint footsteps in the hallway.   
“Lovelace. Eiffel. Are you alright?” Hera asked.  
“I’m… I’m alright. I’m okay.” Lovelace exhaled. “Eiffel, you?”  
Eiffel was still gasping and coughing. “Like I've been trying to tell Doctor Fussypants, I'll be fine. I just… need a minute.” He coughed again, and Hilbert sighed and stood.   
“That was them?” he asked.  
“Yep.”  
“Lovely.” he muttered. He went to her cot and began unstrapping her.   
“What the hell just happened?” Minkowski demanded. Hilbert stiffened. Eiffel tried for a smile and a wave. If Hera had a face, she would be grimacing.  
“Heyyy, Commander.” Eiffel said.   
Minkowski sighed.  
\----  
“So, when the hell did you think this was a good idea?” Minkowski asked.   
“I never thought it was a good idea, I thought it was an idea.” Eiffel protested. “Besides, I wasn't actually going to die. Just be in a coma for a bit.”   
Hilbert sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. Lovelace glared at Eiffel.  
“Oh, and that’s sooo much better.” Minkowski said dryly.  
“Well it worked, didn’t it?” Eiffel said.  
“Ah, yes. Worked. That's the word I’d use here. Definitely.” Lovelace said unamusedly.   
“We are sorry about this.” Hera said.  
“Yeah, we really are.” Eiffel said.   
“I'm very disappointed in you both.” Minkowski continued. “It may have been a half decent plan, but you still could have gotten injured very badly. And Hera, you should know better than him. And since when can you just imitate whoever you want through the intercom?  
Hera chuckled. “Oh, since always.” After a moment of silence, she finally said “You never asked about it!”   
Minkowski huffed. “Hilbert? What's your excuse?”  
“I thought you knew she could do that.” he said.  
“Why the hell would I know that?”  
“It seemed like-”  
“Stop that, you two.” Lovelace said harshly. “What happened, happened. Now we know about it, even if we know almost nothing else.”  
“Hey, we did get some information out of it.” Hera protested.  
“Yeah!” Eiffel agreed. “Although I’m not sure we learned anything enormously useful. But I guess we did learn how to we can trigger the Captain’s Avatar State if we–”  
“No.” Hilbert and Lovelace simultaneously said.   
“No “if.” No next time. There will not be a next time, because you will never, ever do that again.” Lovelace continued. “Right, Doctor?”  
“Am putting locks on the cabinets and drawers tomorrow.” Hilbert said. “And if you do manage to pull something like that again, I will kick you out of an airlock. Understand?”   
“Understood.” Eiffel said. “But hey, the Hiccups Method- it works!”  
Hilbert sighed. “That's not- never mind.”  
“So, now that's out of the way; what do we do?” Minkowski asked.   
“Well, Minkowski, you, me, and Hilbert are going to be solving this stupid puzzle. And Hera and Eiffel are going to be on punishment detail.”  
Hilbert shuddered a little. “That brings back unpleasant memories.”  
“...ok, what's punishment detail?” Eiffel asked worriedly.   
“Yeah, what's that?” Hera asked, equally apprehensive.  
“Oh, what is it? What is it? Doctor, you want to explain?” Lovelace said with an unpleasant laugh.  
“Punishment detail is…” Hilbert sighed. “A two week long list of very long, very unpleasant, list of tasks.”  
Lovelace smiled. “Aptly put, doctor.”  
“Oh.” Eiffel said. “But we got results!”  
“Yes, Eiffel, yes you did. But there are things that are far more important than results. Not lying to your superiors is more important. Not creating a needless crisis is more important. Not emotionally manipulating your crew mates and friends is more important. We don’t put “results” above these things.” Lovelace said, pointedly squeezing Hilbert's bad shoulder as she did. Hilbert let out a small noise of pain and she let go. “Not on my ship. Got it?”   
“I got it!” Eiffel said. Hilbert mumbled a response half heartedly.  
Lovelace hummed. “No, no you don't. But you will.”  
Eiffel looked at his feet awkwardly. Hilbert took a few steps away from Lovelace.   
“I-” Hilbert started and stopped, thinking. “Will be in my quarters.” he finished, starting to leave. “Sleeping.” he added, then left.   
“That’s a good idea.” Minkowski said with a yawn. “Lovelace, are you-”  
“Yeah.” Lovelace said. “I'll be there.”  
“Wait, commander, before you go to bed-” Eiffel said. “There's something I need to ask you three.”  
They all looked at him expectantly. “What is it, Eiffel?” Minkowski asked.   
“Did Hilbert act like that when Lovelace's shuttle blew up?” Eiffel asked. “All emotional and… not normal Hilbert?”  
Lovelace and Minkowski looked at each other. Hera looked at Minkowski and Lovelace. After a few seconds Lovelace sighed. “Kind of. He was… really sulky and uncooperative.”   
“I caught him writing letters to you a few times.” Minkowski added. Lovelace looked at her oddly. “And he freaked the hell out when you almost had your lungs collapse.”  
“Alright.” Eiffel said, the gears in his head turning. He turned to leave and stopped briefly. “Thanks.”


	6. With Such a Hell in Your Head

Eiffel knocked on Hilbert's door. “Doc, you awake still?” he asked, his voice quiet. _I can't do this- no. I can. I can, and I will._  
“One minute.” Hilbert replied. “I'm not decent.”  
“Doc, you aren't decent ever. If you mean you’re not wearing clothes, then I'll stay out here a bit.”  
“Oh, very _funny_ , Officer Eiffel.” Hilbert said. A few seconds later, he opened the door a crack and looked at Eiffel. “Are you here to bother me needlessly, or are we doing our thing?”   
Our thing. It was vague and context based, but it made Eiffel's heart feel so odd all the same. “Well that depends.” he said. “Can I come in?”  
Hilbert stepped back and opened the door wider. Eiffel took a breath and stepped through. Hilbert closed the door behind him, and for a few seconds they stood there, not looking at each other or saying anything. Hilbert broke the silence, surprisingly.  
“Eiffel.”  
“Hilbert.” Eiffel replied.  
“What are you planning to do?” Hilbert asked. Eiffel looked at him. There was that slight warmth in his eyes again, that made the brown and blue feel inviting and comfortable rather than like harsh fire and a closed door. And there was something warm about the rest of his face too, from the slight change in the set of his mouth to the way his eyebrows seemed relaxed. He just looked… warm. Maybe happy, even.  
“I need to tell you something.” Eiffel said, feeling his already fast heartbeat go from twenty to a million. “I probably should’ve told you awhile ago, but I wasn’t sure how you’d react, and I pretended it wasn't a thing for awhile and maybe sit down?”   
Hilbert looked at him in confusion, but he did sit down. “Eiffel?” he asked. “What's wrong?”  
“Nothing’s wrong.” Eiffel snapped a little. “This is just… something I don't really know how to say to you.”  
“Mhmm.” Hilbert got up and started walking towards the door. “You should tell me in the morning.”  
“No!” Eiffel said, and grabbed Hilbert’s shoulder’s. “No, if I wait till morning I won't say it because I'll scare myself into not saying it and I have to say it.” He sighed. “Hilbert, I think I- no, I definitely am- I’m in…” As Eiffel struggled with the words thing, Hilbert looked at him in concern. “I'm-in-love-with-you.” Eiffel crammed out.   
For a second, Hilbert's eyes widened and his lips parted in shock. Then he clenched his jaw and glared at Eiffel, hurt written on his face. “That is not funny, Eiffel.” he said coldly as he pulled Eiffel's hands off his shoulders.  
“I'm not being funny.” Eiffel said. “We've been over this, I'm not messing with you, especially not right now.”  
Hilbert sighed and turned away from him. “Eiffel, just go.”  
“No.” Eiffel put a hand on Hilbert's shoulder. “I'm not trying to hurt you.” he said softly. “I just want to be honest with you.”   
Hilbert looked at him. His eyes were wet, yet he wasn't crying yet. “Officer Eiffel, please. This is cruel, just go.” He didn’t take Eiffel's hand off his shoulder. Eiffel stepped closer and wrapped that arm around Hilbert.  
“I mean it. I can give a play by play of the damn thing if you want.” He was talking quieter now, and oh, how Hilbert wanted to believe him, how he wanted to lay down with him and hear him talk. But Eiffel couldn’t love him.  
There wasn't a single fucking person alive who could love him, and especially not Douglas WeirdMorals Eiffel.  
“Eiffel.”   
“Hilbert.” Eiffel took his hand- his actual hand, not the replacement- and sat down on the bed with him. “I realized I love you on Lovelace’s shuttle.” Eiffel said, starting his story. “I didn’t want to believe it, so I acted like those feelings weren't there. At all. I tried to forget we were ever anything but enemies.” Hilbert, in spite of himself, listened. “I went overboard a few times, and I'm really sorry about that, but I'm even more sorry that you had to almost die for me to even begin to snap out of it and realize how much of an asshole I'd been.”  
“Eiffel-”  
“Hell, it actually kind of took me thinking you were dead to snap out of it. Can you fucking believe that? It took someone dying for me to realize that treating them as subhuman was bad.”  
“Eiffel.” Eiffel stopped rambling and looked at Hilbert instead of his lap. “You… you were not wrong, exactly, to treat me badly.” Hilbert was looking at his and Eiffel's intertwined hands. “I hurt you.”  
“Yes, but I don't get to treat you that badly. No one should treat someone that badly. Hilbert, I let you get treated like a mindless drone by Kepler. Everyone knew about the ridiculous bullshit he was making you do, such as scrubbing every floor on the station with your own toothbrush, and me, the guy who's _supposed_ to say “Hey, this is a human being, chill the hell out” didn't say anything. I didn't say anything to Kepler, or Lovelace, or anyone who did that, and I was _supposed_ to.” Eiffel huffed. “That was out of line.”  
After a beat, Hilbert started talking. “Eiffel, I want you to understand something,” he began, “I killed people. Didn't like it, hell, as far as I am concerned, my hand was forced in the matter, but the truth is, when you get down to it, I _let_ people die, I _killed_ them, because I was too scared.” He took a breath. “I killed people who were like _family_ to me. And you know how important that is to me.” He paused again, looking at his and Eiffel's hands still. “And while I didn't put you in the same danger as them, I almost let you die. I almost killed _you_ , because again, I was scared.”  
“I know.” Eiffel thought for a second, staring at their hands as well. “I also remember something along the lines of “I'm sorry that it had to be you,” coming out of your mouth. I also know that you haven't been allowed to be human for at least three years, maybe four now.” Hilbert sighed and started to turn away. “Hilbert, please.” Eiffel held him tighter. “I know this is weird, and it's probably a bad idea, but I also need to say this because it hurts not to.” Hilbert stopped and stayed. “Thank you.”   
“Eiffel, you shouldn’t love me.” Hilbert said. “There is something wrong with me, do you understand? I kill everything I get close to. I am not even alive.” Eiffel grip on Hilbert's hand tightened, and he brought Hilbert's wrist to his ear.  
“I dunno doc, you sound plenty alive to me.” Eiffel said, listening to fast thump of Hilbert's heart. _The way I want you to sound._ “A little nervous, but alive.”  
Hilbert yanked his hand out of Eiffel's grip. “I don't mean literally.” he snapped.   
“Hilbert, we’re all dead inside on the Hephaestus. It's our brand.” Eiffel said pointedly, putting his hand on Hilbert's thigh.   
“Eiffel, I wasn't even sure I could feel anything other than annoyance, sadness, pain, and fear after the last Hephaestus mission.” Hilbert said. “And then I met you, and I just-” he sighed. “I started to feel these… tiny moments of things. Like joy, and concern, and…”   
“Love?” Eiffel asked.  
“Yes.” Hilbert shrunk in on himself. “That thing. Wasn't supposed to feel that. Especially not for you. But I did and was-” Hilbert laughed. “It was like being in a fight. Knew I was going to get hurt, but the feeling of being so awake, so alive, knowing that I was alive because I was going to get hurt was more important than the fact that I was getting hurt was so exhilarating that I couldn't stop, and even then, don't think I could've stopped if I wanted to.” He was smiling faintly now. “You made me feel alive.”  
Eiffel felt something in him open and bloom as Hilbert talked. He put his hand on Hilbert's cheek and turned his face so that way he could see him clearly. “Hilbert.”  
“Yes?” Hilbert asked.  
“I really want to kiss you right now.”  
“Eiffel-” Hilbert said, exasperated.   
“Can I?”  
Hilbert gave him a small nod.  
And when Eiffel kisses Hilbert… well. When Eiffel kisses Hilbert, for a second he is pliant and yielding. Not passive. Just carefully selecting the option of ‘what to do next’ that he liked best. And then he tentatively pulled Eiffel closer. Metal, robotic arm around his waist, pulling him so close that Eiffel could feel his chest move as he breathed, a hand on the back of his neck, entwined in Eiffel’s curls, gently resting there. He is such a frightened thing, Eiffel realizes. Hilbert is a wild, yet constrained being, an extravagant dream and a meticulous plan, and he is very frightened to kiss Eiffel.   
So Eiffel grabbed the back of Hilbert’s neck and tilted his head ever so slightly.That didn’t magically make this kiss any less awkward, but Hilbert relaxed enough for Eiffel to feel a little less guilty about kissing him. He broke away, resting his forehead against Hilbert’s, feeling their breaths intermingle. “I-” Hilbert began, and Eiffel started kissing him again so he would shut up. This kiss felt a little more right. Eiffel broke away again. Hilbert looked at him strangely. He brushed a thumb (his metal thumb, so cold in contrast to his body that it sent shivers down his spine) over Eiffel’s lips, and that felt right. He brushed his hand over Eiffel’s cheekbone, that was right. He pulled Eiffel down for a kiss, one hand resting on the back of his neck, and the other one his cheek, and that was right. It was more than right. It was okay. Not okay, as in, not spectacular. Okay, as in, we will be okay. Okay, as in, we will live through this. Okay, as in, I see you, little broken thing, I am broken too, we can be broken together, doesn’t that sound grand?  
And God, did it sound grand.

 


	7. Be careful of memories, you might trip

Hilbert laid in his bed, staring at the ceiling. He hadn't really left since… since that night, when Eiffel almost put himself in coma. He couldn't bring himself to look at Eiffel when he woke up next to him the next day, and his lips felt like he'd burned them. It would have better if he had.

He can't stop thinking about every mistake he's made, everything that made him a stupid, gullible piece of shit.

He fumbled that gun and accidentally shot his father in the back. He didn't work hard enough, sacrifice enough, be persistent enough, so Olga died of medical negligence. He didn't carry a weapon with him and that happened. He didn't let Viktor come with him to the library and got caught. He took the deal in 1987 and sold his soul. He took another deal in 1989 and sold it again. He accepted a drugged drink from Mr. Cutter. And then he kept selling his soul, piece by piece, because he started misled, then scared, and then tired. He was fool enough to think Decima was actually working. He had the stubbornness to stay alive after Jacobi tried to kill him. And then, oh then, he let Eiffel kiss him, literally gave him permission to do it.

He should've died when he was supposed to and saved everyone a headache. They would've forgotten him, eventually, made him just a bad dream that happened once. Maybe Minkowski would feel guilt, but she'd get over it fast.

Maybe he could still save them some trouble. He had a pocket knife, under his mattress. He slid his hand underneath it and felt for it. It was there. He brought it out and opened it, staring at his reflection in it. It was sharp. It’d be so fast, so easy- Hera probably wouldn't care enough to alert anyone if she saw something suspicious, and they'd stopped checking in on him earlier that day. They might check in at dinner. That was a few hours away.

He had time.

He kept staring at the blade in fascination, the bright silver contrasting against the painted white of his robotic hand. They had put him on suicide watch, but that was before they knew Eiffel had an alien blood transfusion. And Eiffel… for all his words, he didn't know what he was doing. Eiffel had everyone else- if he got fucked up too badly, they'd help him. They'd always help him. It wouldn't even matter to Goddard Fuckaristics anymore. He was a tool, meant to be used. And they'd used him up.

Gently, he pressed the tip of the blade to his wrist. He'd never cut himself on purpose before. Burned, yes. Been punched, yes. Hit with various blunt objects, yes. But never a cut. And none of those had been on his wrist. He pressed in a little more, and made a shallow cut. Little beads of blood pearled up, and it stung like hell, but it wasn't as bad as he thought it might be. He blew on it gently, thinking.

If he wanted to get this done, it has to be overkill. Plans rarely work on the Hephaestus unless they are simple, and extreme. He had risperidone in his top dresser drawer, he was supposed to take those twice a day but didn't always, so there was maybe half a bottle left. There were some sleeping pills stored in the med kit he kept in his room for emergencies. The two of those would be bad on their own, but maybe if he also-

At that moment, the door to his room creaked open, startling him out of his thoughts and making him drop his knife. To his horror, it bounced off his bed and to the floor, past his bed curtain. He froze, his heart beating wildly as the silhouette of whoever opened the door bent down and picked up the knife.

They walked over to his bed, silent as a ghost, and slowly drew back the curtain. It was Lovelace. Hilbert shrank back, feeling incredibly guilty at the look she gave him. He wished he were already dead. She looked at him for awhile, making and breaking eye contact a few times before staring at the knife and the blood on it. Hilbert held his wrist, trying to hide the cut.

“Doctor.” she said, crisp and upset. “What the fresh hell is this.”

Hilbert shrank back even more, putting his back to the wall. “Was accidental.” he grumbled. Lovelace grabbed his flesh hand and yanked it up to her face.

“Oh yes. This straight, even line looks completely accidental.” she said, examining his wrist. Hilbert pulled his hand back and stared at the cut himself. The blood smeared around it and still beading up from it. His blood. Couldn't she have come in a few minutes later? “What were you thinking, does the fact that you just got off suicide watch only a week ago mean nothing to you?”

Hilbert didn't reply. He didn't want to, and he didn't really understand the question.

Lovelace, however, had had it up to here and grabbed Hilbert by the arm, pulling him out of bed. “Come on.”

“To where?” Hilbert dragged his feet, much preferring to stay in bed and continue thinking about his own death and how to do it over whatever this was going to be.

“Somewhere other than your quarters. It smells like sadness and a high school classroom in there.” Lovelace kept dragging him behind her. They went on through the station, not really seeming to have a destination in mind, eventually stopping in the bridge, where Minkowski was working (not surprising), as was Eiffel (somewhat surprising). True to form, Eiffel was reluctant in his work, and was frequently looking up from it. As he did so, he saw Lovelace and Hilbert, standing there awkwardly.

“Oh, hi doc!” Eiffel was almost cheerful for a few seconds, but that died quickly as he took in the pair. “What happened?”

“Hilbert cut himself.” Lovelace's voice and grip were tight.

“What?” Eiffel’s face turned from apprehensive to concerned in seconds. “What happened, were you in the lab or something?” Minkowski finally looked up from her work, the noise level around her going beyond normal Eiffel levels.

Hilbert didn't answer as he stared at his feet, not unlike a child being scolded. “No.” Lovelace replied for him after a while. “He hadn't left his quarters.” Her grip was tightening a little and it felt like her hand was… shaking. Gennadi’s hand shook like that once, shook horribly as they held him close after he came back late and thought he was dead- no. Stop. That's not what's happening. She couldn't be upset. That wouldn't make any sense.

Realization slowly dawned on Eiffel's face, while Minkowski looked confused as hell. “He ‘cut himself’ cut himself.” Eiffel said quietly. Minkowski’s eyes widened like an owl.

Hilbert wanted to melt through the floor. He wished Eiffel would stop looking at him with those big green eyes, the picture of sadness, and that Minkowski would stop looking at him in shock and fear, and that Lovelace's hand would stop shaking and holding his so tight.

He pries her fingers off and slips hand out of her grasp. They're all looking at him now.

He leaves the room.

Eiffel stares after Hilbert's retreating form. He starts to get up and go after him, but Lovelace stops him.

“Lovelace-” he starts.

“No. I'll try to handle this.” Her eyes are tired. More tired than they've been in weeks. “I think I embarrassed him or something.” She starts to go, and it's Eiffel's turn to stop her.

“If you try to say that we care about him, he won't believe you. And he'll get suspicious if you're nice.” She probably knew, but he needed to say it. “He thought- maybe thinks- that I've been playing mind games with him because of that.”

Lovelace nodded. “Noted.”

Eiffel stares after her as she leaves too, she can feel it. He isn't what one would call terrifying, but he does scare her sometimes, with the way he watches everything around him. It reminds her that he isn't as stupid as he acts.

She wanders the station for a while, checking Selberg’s old haunts and Hilbert's usual sulking spots. Nothing. It's when she's in engineering, looking around where Selberg used to sit with Fisher when they both worked on something and had a brief break, talking, when she has an idea. She makes her way down the hall towards the heart of Engineering, and yep, there he is, staring at the Door out of Hera’s sensors.

She looks at it too. It still has some of his blood on it. She thought they’d cleaned that up. She sits next to Hilbert and starts talking. “I didn't mean to embarrass you. I just… I didn't know what to do.” Hilbert doesn't reply. She may not have meant to, but he can't believe that she's sorry. “Do you ever see them?” she asks him, her voice quiet.

“Who?” Hilbert asks.

“The old crew.” Hilbert looks over at her. She has her knees tucked up to her chin and is staring at the wall in front of her. “I see them sometimes. I think. It's not- it's not exactly like seeing, but like having the faint impression that something is supposed to be somewhere and you're so used to it being there that for a few seconds you think it's there?”

It takes Hilbert a few seconds to understand. But then he nods. “I have that happen with a lot of people.”

Silence.

“Does it stop?”

Hilbert thinks about that for a minute. He doesn't know. He doesn't think it does- every once in awhile, he ‘sees’ Olga, in a t-shirt and shorts, dancing a blend of a thousand styles on the observation deck with a furrowed brow. He thinks he ‘saw’ his mother once, sitting at a piano in the storage room, 2 missions ago. He ‘sees’ children he doesn't even remember the names of in medical, dying in the cots. He ‘sees’ those who he doesn't even know if they are actually dead. Yuliana, working beside him, her ghost white hair almost blinding in the fluorescent life- no, light. There is no life here. Gennadi, while he works on plans for the ship with notes on hidden areas, a nonexistent pencil clutched in their hand as they try to scratch a map of Volgograd on the table in front of them. Viktor, sitting with him as he thinks. Fisher, sitting on a counter in medical, waiting to snatch his scarf from his hair. Lambert, going over rules and mumbling mantras to himself in times of stress. Some days he ‘sees’ them all. Some days he doesn't ‘see’ any of them.

“I don't think it does.” Hilbert says at last.

Lovelace leans back and lets out a long sigh. “Then do me a favor and don't die.”   
  
Hilbert chuckles, airy and slow as ever. “Don't wish to see me for the rest of your life? Surprising.” His voice dripped with a good natured sarcasm.

Lovelace looks like she wants to say something, but she doesn't. She just sits next to him. It's quiet around them for what might be hours, or minutes.

Then she starts talking again, breaking the quiet. “So, about Eiffel, you two have been-”

“No.”

“Really friendly-”

“No.”

Lovelace stops and there's an almost smile on her face. “Is that a ‘no I am not fucking the communications officer, who I obviously have a bad case of the feelings for’ or a ‘oh for the love of mad science, shut up I'm not talking about that’.”

Hilbert makes a very indignant noise, feeling his face flush dark pink. Is she enjoying this somehow? “Both! And I do not have feelings for Officer Eiffel anymore!”

“Sure.” Lovelace crossed her arms. “And you literally trying to break down a metal door because you think he's dying is totally something that you would do for someone you don't care about.”

“I-” Hilbert paused. “I don't want to talk about this.”

“Okay, fine.” Lovelace shrugged. “Just remember to use a safeword-”

“LOVELACE!”

 

* * *

 

It's an hour or so later, when Hilbert's sitting in the greenhouse out of lack of better things to do and a desire to avoid everyone, when Eiffel comes to see him.

“So…” he starts. “I think we might need to talk.”

Hilbert looked up at him tiredly. “About what, exactly?”

“I don't know, how about the fact that I kissed you, and then you spent four days in room without the energy to do anything, then you self harmed? How about we talk about that, Doc?” Eiffel's eyebrows were knitting together.

“And why should we talk about that?” Hilbert asked, tapping his fingers on his thigh. He missed his gloves. It's been months since he had seen them, maybe he should start looking for them-

“Because I care about you, asshole.” Eiffel interrupted his thoughts. “Because I don't want you to hurt yourself, or to feel like you can't talk to me.”

Hilbert sighed. “Eiffel-”

“No. None of that self pitying, conceal don't feel bullcrap.” Eiffel cupped his face in his hands. “I want to do the right thing here, but that's going to be really hard if you don't talk to me. So tell me what the hell has been going on.”

Hilbert sighed and leaned his cheek into Eiffel's hand. “Do you really want to know?” he said softly.

“Yes.” Eiffel pushed back a few loose strands of hair from Hilbert's face.

“I don't know why I'm alive anymore.” Eiffel takes in a deep breath and Hilbert keeps going before he can say something. “I keep thinking that I can do something right, that I can fix something, make everything little less broken, but all I have done is broken it more.”

Eiffel sighed heavily. “When… when did this get all complicated?”

Hilbert sighed. “Hell if I know.”

Eiffel pressed his forehead against Hilbert's. “Can you promise me something?”

“Depends.”

“Don't die here.” Eiffel messed with Hilbert's hair a little. “See the sun first.”

Hilbert closed his eyes. “Will try to.” 


End file.
